A Bad Omen
by IamThePasserby
Summary: This is a collection of oneshots about the many times bad things happen because of good food. Dean believes that whenever he craves mexican cuisine, it's a bad omen.And he's right.
1. Baja Fresh

BAJA FRESH

It was always a bad omen when he was craving Mexican food.

The sun had risen lazily, casting an oddly offensive glare through the motel rooms open window, right onto his face. Well, actually, it was only onto about half of his face, because the rest of it was shoved into his pillow, which hid a rather large knife that was clutched in his hand beneath. Nonetheless, when the light had woken Dean, he grumbled at the nerve of the stupid sun to wake him this early on a Sunday.

It was one of those rare days off, after all.

The last week had been pretty tough, and Sam had gotten the worst of the beating from their last job. Dean figured his brother probably wouldn't wake for a long while, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't be able to move. Groaning tiredly, Dean sat up and squinted across the room to see that Sam was still out on his own bed, and that the clock on the bedside table read 8:34AM. That was soooo wrong; just _cruel_ that he was awake, because he knew he wouldn't be able to fall back asleep. Rolling his eyes at the fact, he decided that if he couldn't sleep, then he might as well eat, and he realized that he was ridiculously hungry.

Blinking tiredly, Dean showered, dressed, and left the 'Riverside Airport Inn' to find a decent eating establishment in this hazy little area of California. He drove for a good twenty minutes, seeing a Long John Silver's, a Jack in the Box, a McDonald's, and at least four Chinese take-outs joints, but none that seemed to call out to him.

He realized that what he was really craving was Mexican food. Mmmm, thick, juicy taco's and a cup's worth of cheap imitation salsa. Bring on the sour cream, baby.

And so, it was with mouth-watering visions of carne asada and hot tortillas that Dean pulled into the parking lot of a very clean-looking Baja Fresh, knowing that there was no way this would live up to the real deal stuff, but that it would be good enough.

He should have known that just an easy trip for food was too much to ask for.

Dean walked into the place, noting the posters of dripping burritos and extra large sodas. The place was pretty busy, considering that it was only about nine in the morning.

He figured California people must just like their breakfast burrito's or something.

He was waiting in line, trying to decide whether he wanted five tacos and a burrito, or two burritos and a quesadilla, when it happened.

He felt a brushing bump against his right shoulder, and he turned with eyebrows slightly raised to see who had run into him. The very white man appeared to be in his late forties, with brown hair that just reeked of gel, and fingernails that screamed manicured. His wide eyes were brown also, and his face held that look of false surprise that famous or powerful people often receive when a fan just happens to run into them and has a favor to ask.

But that wasn't the best….or worst...part.

He was wearing a fire-engine red, cut-off t-shirt with large violet letters splashed across the front that spelled out 'VOTE!'. His matching running shorts were….short….and he held himself in a manner that strangely hinted 'I need protecting.'

It was….surprising, to say the least.

"Oh my gosh," the red-t-shirt guy said with a small gasp that was somehow loud enough for everyone within a ten foot radius to pick up, "I'm so sorry, I didn't even see you there, oh wow I almost just went up in front of you didn't I, oh I'm so sorry but I wasn't trying to, I'm not that kind of person, I wouldn't just go right in front of you I mean you've been waiting in line too, but I just ran into you, and how clumsy of me!"

Dean blinked. He thought that was supposed to have been, like, eight sentences, but they'd been said in one big rush, on one breath, in a very whiny kind of voice.

"Uh, 's fine…man." Dean took a step back, noticing that the guy hadn't moved away since bumping into him. Dean tried to smile in a friendly, thoroughly non-affectionate way, but all he could come up with was a sort of half-horrified gawking expression.

Mr. Red T-shirt didn't seem put off at all by Dean's awkwardness, however. In fact, he did nothing but grin happily at the hunter the entire dang time that they were waiting in line. By the time they got to the registers, Dean was thanking twelve kinds of gods that Sammy was not here to see this.

The girl at the register had asked Dean what kind of drinks he wanted, and he told her to make them both cokes. Sammy might not actually be able to sit up long enough to eat, but Dean had gotten him something anyway, just in case.

The lady put the first of the two drinks on the counter at the same time the other cashier put Mr. Red T-shirt's drink on the counter. Dean reached for his coke, only to realize to late that Mr. Red T-shirt's hand was reaching for it also.

It was with an awful jolt that Dean realized he had just accidentally grabbed Mr. Red T-shirt's hand. He jerked back, again surprised and again with that horrified expression on his face, when Mr. Red T-shirt began to ramble again, giggling intermittently this time.

"Oh my goodness, I am so sorry, wow you know it just seems like something's drawing us together doesn't it?"

Dean should've just let it go then. In stead, his automatic sarcasm reflexes decided to kick into gear as his instincts made him take another step back. He muttered a half-hysterical response after a 'tut'ing sound of disbelief left his lips.

"What, the Force?" he asked rhetorically, feeling that he'd give anything to be in the clutches of Jaba The Hut right now rather than caught near Mr. Red- T-shirt man.

The man just looked up at him, wide-eyed and clearly hopeful.

"Oh my gosh, you think so?" he asked, genuinely excited by the prospect.

Dean decided not to make eye contact with anyone at Baja Fresh anymore.

He tried to ignore the fact that Mr. Red T-shirt was waving at him as he left, and he slammed the door of the Impala before thrusting the key into the ignition.

He should've known Mexican food was a bad idea. Some thing bad always happened when he went for Mexican food.


	2. The Terror That Tacos Bring

The Terror That Tacos Bring

Having showered, dressed, and spent twenty minutes throwing things at the back of Sammy's head, Dean was running out of distractions.

"You hungry?" he asked, and waited for his little brother to respond. Sam sighed, shutting off his laptop and twisting around in his chair.

"Yeah, I am. We can go get something I guess. What you feel like?" Dean thought about it for a second.

"Hmm. Well, I saw a place on the way; _Don Juan's_ or something. I could really go for some tacos right now." He looked over to Sam, who stared at him and said nothing.

After about fifteen seconds of silence, Dean began to wonder if he'd heard him at all.

"Sammy?" he raised an eyebrow, and considered asking if he was ok, but then Sam came back to life.

And started acting like a maniac.

Sam leapt off of the chair, knocking it over in the process, and dashed to the other side of the room. He snatched up the gun that was resting on the dresser and took off the safety before lifting it and sweeping the motel room.

Dean gaped.

"Sam! What-" The younger hunter silenced him with a look, and Dean glanced around the room, wondering if there was some hideous creature he'd failed to notice lurking beside the lamp stand. Sam strode quickly to the bathroom door, opening it and entering with the gun raised protectively. Dean could hear the curtain being pushed aside, the cabinets being opened roughly, even the toilet seat being lifted. The sandy haired Winchester stood slowly and took a step from the bed just as Sam came out of the bathroom, looking deeply disturbed, and no less panicky than he had a minute before.

"Sam, what's wrong?" Dean asked again, trying to sound urgent. This was seriously freaking him out. Sam didn't look at him, but proceeded to check under both beds, looking for some hidden enemy.

"_Sam._" Still the youngest brother said nothing, rushing past Dean to check inside the closet, under the table, behind the dresser, and just outside the door in the parking lot.

"Sa-!" Dean was cut off.

"Would you just shut up for a second!" Dean looked incredulously at him, and as Sam began to do a second sweep of the room, Dean moved to grab his shoulder.

"Don't move, Dean!" Sam was speaking like they were in the heat of battle, like they were under attack or at war. His stance was purely defensive, and his eyes were alert to any movement.

_Please_, Dean thought as he stood as still as possible, _we're in a Motel 6__ for crying out loud!_

After another minute of watching his brother tear up the room, looking scared out of his wits that he wasn't finding something, Dean decided that this was just stupid. He walked over to Sam, grasping his shoulders and trying to meet his eyes.

"Sam! Sammy, what is it? Look at me!" though standing still, Sam's eyes were still searching, and his hand was clenching the gun so tightly that his finger's were turning white, "SAM!" Dean was feeling a bit frantic now; not knowing what was wrong was not cool.

Sam finally met his eyes for a second, breathing heavily, and spoke in a mere mutter, like he wasn't really focusing on what he was saying, but just speaking while his mind raced, probably through a list of places he might still search.

"Tacos…" he said. Dean stared.

"What?!" Dean didn't get it.

"_Tacos_, Dean!" Sam pulled away, and peeked behind the curtains as he spoke, sounding almost angry, "You said you wanted_ tacos_!" Dean just kept staring, looking askance.

"What the heck does that have to do with anything?"

"Because something bad _always_ happens when you eat Mexican food, Dean!"

Okay, that floored Dean so much he couldn't even laugh. He managed to blink, but then he just stood and gawked at Sam. Sam looked at him and then rolled his eyes frustratedly.

"Remember the skinwalker in Tulsa? You had carnitas that day, and I almost got impaled," Sam went to look out the door again, "And the black dog in Milwaukee; enchiladas from that hole in the wall place, and you were in the hospital for two stinkin' days," Sam came back in the room, looking unnerved and slightly on edge as he finally lowered the gun and faced Dean, "and the poltergeist in Ames, or the haunting in Sacramento, or the spirit in Jackson-"

"Alright, Sam, I get it!" Dean was feeling a little overwhelmed.

"But you _don't_, Dean!" Sam was almost yelling now, "You always want salsa on _everything_! And last time you had taquitos I almost got struck by stinkin' lightning! So if you're wondering why I'm freaking out, it's because you said you wanted tacos, and so something bad is going to happen, and I am _not_ getting hit by a car, or pushed off a cliff, or bitten by a raccoon because you feel like tacos! _I'm_ going to be ready this time!" Sam finished his rant, panting and with a wild look in his eyes.

Dean couldn't quite think of a suitable thing to say, so he just voiced the question that he'd had while Sam was raving.

"So," he began, and even to himself his voice sounded a bit meek, "I probably should've told you I picked up a churro last night while you were sleeping on the way here?"

Sam looked at him blankly.

Across the room, the TV exploded.

As Dean blinked through the smoke and brushed off pieces of glass and plastic, he looked over at Sam, who was giving him a woebegone 'you see what I mean' kind of look as the window drapes started on fire.

"Ok, Sam," Dean relented, as he moved to stomp the flames out, "no more Mexican food."


	3. Blame The Burrito

**Blame The Burrito**

As if it wasn't a bad enough day to begin with.

He should've known, really.

He should've realized the moment he woke up this morning to see Dean armed with lidded, Starbucks coffee and a box of powdered doughnuts.

It should've been obvious, actually.

"Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty! C'mon Samantha, get up and go shower; you smell." Dean's cheerful voice was so unusual this early in the morning and _so_ unappreciated by the tangled lump of blankets that was Sam on the bed.

The youngest Winchester groaned tiredly, silently asking God in an exasperated mind-voice why Dean had to pick the one day that Sam _wanted_ to sleep in to wake up with the sun. _Why God? Why?_

"Go away," he mumbled into his very soft, very warm pillow.

"Six o'clock, Sammy. The job awaits."

"You suck."

"I dunno what you're talking about, I'm totally awesome."

Sam groaned again.

"No," he insisted, knowing he sounded all of five years old and not caring. He pushed himself up with a sigh into a seated position, blinking his sleepy eyes in the offensive light that was streaming through the window. At least the coffee smelled good. _Mmm…caffeine…_

Dean handed him a cup of blessedly hot coffee.

And the bottom of the cup fell out directly over Sam's lap.

Suddenly wide awake, Sam gave a yelp and leapt from the bed, not even noticing that Dean's face was frozen half-way between thoroughly horrified and hysterically amused. The younger brother jumped around the motel room for a good minute, alternating between the word '_hot!_' and various curse words. He stopped only when his lap stopped steaming, and he turned, panting, to look accusingly at his brother who gave a muffled gurgle that was the result of not being sure whether to laugh or ask if Sam was okay. At Sam's evil glare of impending death, however, Dean seemed to come to himself, and he cleared his throat before he spoke, struggling not to grin.

"You uh, heh, you ok there, Sammy?" Sam just turned to his duffle, pulling a pair of clean clothes roughly out of it and heading towards the bathroom.

"We're leaving as soon as I'm out of the shower," he announced angrily, slamming the door.

* * *

Dean watched his brother slam the door, and he wasted no time before he burst out laughing.

He'd had no idea that the cup was about to fall apart, and he had to admit that any amount of scalding liquid on your thighs had to suck, but Sammy's reaction had been so priceless; it would be a crime not to laugh at that.

"Oh Sammy," Dean chuckled to himself, knowing that his little brother was probably fuming underneath the motel's showerhead, "no coffee for you I guess…"

Dean lifted his own completely intact cup, checking the bottom before he pulled it up to drink.

As he tipped the cup, the lid came off, and hot coffee poured over Dean's entire face.

When Sam came out of the shower, nothing was said, but the look on Sam's face when he saw Dean's face and shirt covered in coffee said enough.

The older brother cursed Starbucks as he showered, trying to ignore the sound of Sam laughing heartily outside the bathroom door.

* * *

Sam waited patiently for Dean to come out, and he even managed not to make a comment about the coffee thing. It wasn't until he realized that Dean was staring puzzledly at him that he said anything at all.

"What?" Sam asked, spreading his hands. Dean raised an eyebrow.

"Why are your clothes wet on one side?" Sam frowned.

"I stepped on 'em when I got out of the shower, and they're the only clean ones I got."

"Oh." Dean smirked.

"Shutup, Dean."

"I didn't say anything!" Dean feigned innocence, smirking some more as they left the motel room.

"Yeah, yeah…"

Dean swaggered out into the parking lot.

Sam laughed when Dean stubbed his toe on the threshold, glad that at least karma seemed to be doing it's job today.

"Shutup, Sam!"

* * *

They drove to the front office, and they both left the Impala to check out. While walking to the building, Dean looked over at Sam again, and grinned.

"What?" Sam was looking at him, an annoyed expression on his face. Dean loved when he inspired that expression.

"Nothin'. Just thinking that the manager might find it a little off-putting that you look like you wet your pants recently." He flashed a wide smile at his younger sibling.

"Shutup, Dean." Dean smiled again, but he lowered his voice a bit at they got inside and neared the front desk.

"Aw, c'mon Sammy, it's not so bad," they got in line and he turned to his brother, nudging him with his elbow, "could be worse. At least it's nice out; all sunny and everything. You'll dry off in no time."

Though they were only inside for five minutes, by the time they walked out of the front office, the sun had disappeared behind thick, dark clouds and rain was coming down in torrents.

They stood silently under the building's eaves for a moment, Dean staring and Sam glaring.

Dean continued to stare at the mass of clouds while Sam spoke.

"I blame you," Sam said.

"Fair enough," Dean conceded.

* * *

They were both soaked by the time they'd hurriedly crossed the ten feet to the car, and they'd only been driving and shivering for ten minutes when they realized the heater was broken.

This day was seriously sucking out loud. And it was only seven o'clock.

The freak cloudburst burned off before nine, and Sam was certain that it had been Dean's fault. He'd totally jinxed it by saying 'it could be worse'. Sam huffed quietly to himself, squirming in the sticky wetness the rain had caused him. He _knew_ it could be worse; it could _always_ be worse. You just weren't supposed to say so when the clouds could hear you. Everybody knew _that_.

Either way, it was with a very wet and very grumpy disposition that Sam sat in the passenger seat, silently cursing the heater for adding to his discomfort.

Stupid thing was probably doing it on purpose.

And now that the sun was back, they felt hot and humid. Great.

Sam sighed and decided to let it go. They had a wendigo to hunt today after all, and getting all worked up over the sucky morning wasn't going to help him concentrate.

* * *

Dean was glaring at the sky, angry at himself for jinxing the weather like that.

_Stupid eavesdropping clouds._

He looked sourly over at the ac controls.

_Stupid busted heater._

He drove sulkily out of the town, pulling onto a relatively deserted highway, glad at least for the open road to ease his mind.

Something pale and slightly green spattered in the upper left corner of the windshield.

Dean gaped for a moment, then sat back angrily and cursed repeatedly under his breath, hating whatever bird had dared to violate his car in that manner. It was just downright wrong.

_Stupid inconsiderate nature! _

The road stretched before the Impala, the signs getting fewer and farther between. It was nearly nine when he realized that the sun had decided to make a reappearance, all clouds gone to torment some other poor soul who had uttered the fated phrase 'it could be worse'. The bird poop on the windshield had dried, and Dean decided when they got back tonight he was going to treat his baby to a nice wax. She deserved it.

The classic Chevy ate up the empty highway under the guidance of Dean's hands, tapping lightly in time to Zeppelin.

Something small fuzzy dashed into the road, a blur in the immediate path of the car.

"Holy-!" Dean swerved hugely to avoid the thing, barely keeping the car on the road, but managing not to collide with the furball.

"Dean!" the sandy-haired Winchester looked over at his younger sibling, and was surprised and and fairly amused to see that Sam was nearly overturned in his seat, but still managing to yelp at him "what in the world are you doing?!"

"A stupid rabbit just tried to commit suicide! I almost hit it, barely missed the crazy thing."

"Oh." Sam seemed satisfied enough with that excuse for nearly flipping the car; apparently hitting rabbits was a bad thing in his book. Dean cast him a glance, wondering if his brother found the close-roadkill-call as chuckle-worthy as he did; suicidal rabbits were kinda funny, right…?

"Dean!" the older hunter whipped his eyes back to the road and swore, wondering what it could be this time, braking as hard as he could, but unable to ignore the odd thump and crunch at the Impala's right front tire. The car came to a delayed stop, and the boys sat there a moment, both knowing what had happened and neither wanting to acknowledge it.

They had stopped in the middle of the highway, and Dean noticed that the sky was overcast again, which was actually fitting. Trees lined the road on the left side, and the right opened to a view of hills that cast shadows over the land that surrounded them. Sam was the first to speak in the car's musty silence.

"Um, Dean?"

"Yeah?"

"I think you hit something."

"Yeah."

"You see what it was?"

"I dunno. Rabbit, I think." They sat a little longer.

"Huh," Sam said awkwardly.

"Yeah," Dean responded reluctantly. They exited the car simultaneously, coming around their respective sides to the front end of the Impala. Sam got there first.

"Aw man…"

A rabbit lay before the car, obviously dead, looking oddly shaped and rather sad with it's white fur and long whiskers. Dean made a face, feeling more than a bit guilty.

He'd never hit anything living before, after all. He surveyed the Impala for damage, but there was none. He tried to ignore the childlike feeling for animals that he was suddenly experiencing. _Well, it's only a rabbit…_

Sam was looking severely bummed.

"Aw _Dean_," he moaned, looking down grimly at the creature turned roadkill, "look at it – it's _cute_!" he lifted his face exasperatedly to gaze at Dean, who was feeling very small at the moment, Sam still talking like he'd just suffered a big disappointment, "You killed a _cute _rabbit," he gestured toward the thing with his hand, a grimace on his face, "It's not even a rabbit! It's like a bunny. And it's a _little_ bunny, too! Like, a baby!" Sam raised big accusing eyes at Dean, who knew his own face was a strange mixture of half-amused incredulity and wincing guilt. Sam spread his hands, looking more exasperated than ever, his voice loud and almost disbelieving, though not angry as he spoke, "You killed a cute, baby, bunny, Dean!"

Sam rolled his eyes and walked back to the passenger side door, shaking his head as he went, muttering something about 'entire day sucks' and 'just our luck' and 'had to be a _cute_ one'.

Dean shook his head as well before moving the dead cute-baby-bunny to the side of the road, throwing his hands up in the air and walking back to the driver's side door.

He stood with his hand on the handle for a second, thinking, before looking up and saying to no one,

"It just _had_ to be a cute one, didn't it?!"

This was so not his day.

Noone saw them pulled over again, this time at the edge of a much thicker line of trees that began the dense forest stretching behind for miles. The tip of a mountain could be seen just over the tree line, but the boys were more focused on loading up supplies for the trek into the dark forest to finish this hunt.

Dean pulled his last bag of Peanut M&M's from his pocket, looking for a little peice of goodness to brighten his day.

The bag split, and M&M's spilled all over the gritty highway.

Dean said nothing. He stood, looking forlornely at the ground. Sam came around to the back of the car, and saw him right before the dark-haired brother stepped into something unpleasant, but also chocolate colored.

Their eyes met, and they silently decided to say nothing.

With matching sighs, they loaded up, and started the hike to find the wendigo they knew was hiding...eh, somewhere in there.

"So, how far is this thing's lair supposed to be, Sammy?"

"About an hour-and-a-half of hiking, and we should get to the base of the mountain. We gotta search through the caves there."

They stepped over a particularly large fallen log. There wasn't really much to say, but Dean tried, at least.

"Oh...fun."

"Yeah."

They trekked in relative silence. Relative meaning awkward. And thick. And Dean didn't like it.

"So," Dean started, and Sam lifted his eyebrows, inclining his head, which meant he was listening, at least, so maybe the awkwardness would stop, "it's, uh, been kinda a weird day, huh? I mean," Dean chuckled half-heartedly, "it's not everyday that everything seems to go so wro-"

At that moment, everything started to go wrong.

"AAAH! AGH! Gedditoff! GedditOFFmee!"

"Holy-!"

"Deeean! Get it- ow, _ow_! OW!"

"I got it, I got it Samm- _OW_!"

"What is it?! Ow, get it off! Agh!"

"It's a squirrel! A friggin _squirrel_, Sam-"

"Ow! AAAGH!"

"Stop moving-"

"GET IT OFF!"

"I'm gettin' it! I'm gettin' it!"

The squirrel had come out of nowhere, apparently pretty insane as far as angry squirrels go, and latched onto Sam's head. Which was kinda funny, if you thought about it...not that Dean had time to think about it.

It might've had rabies, after all.

Dean made one really hard swipe, and dislodged the thing. It flew and scrambled away when it landed, but Sam was still freaking out, waving his arms and hopping around like a maniac.

 "It's gone Sam, I got it!" Dean was panting.

"GET IT OFF-"

"Sam, shutup! You want to wake up every wendigo in the state?"

"GET THE SQUIRREL OFF OF ME!"

"_Sam_!" Dean hissed, "Dude, shut _up_!" Sam seemed to calm down, though he still looked twitchy.

"It's gone? Are you sure?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm sure, just...just keep it down, okay?" Dean shook his head, glancing around, while Sam blew out a big breath.

"Man," Sam said fervently, and Dean raised an eyebrow at his expression, "I officialy hate squirrels."

"Dude, you are officially a pansy."

"What?!"

"Shhhhhh!"

Sam rolled his eyes and stalked off into the woods. Dean followed, shaking his head.

* * *

"I am not stomping! I'm stepping!"

"Well step a little lighter, Sasquatch, or surprise is out!"

Sam huffed, clenching his jaw. His face was scratched all over, his hair smelt like dirty squirrel, and Dean thought he was being too loud, which was so _not_ true!

They were close now to the caves, close enough that anything hiding there might possibly maybe be able to hear them if they weren't quiet, but Dean hissing at him every other second to stop walking so loud was really aggravating. And it wasn't like Sam was stupid - he knew how much noise not to make, and he was watching where he was going, it wasn't like he would be stupid enough to-

_snap!_

Both hunters froze. Sam cringed, wincing as he met Dean's glare. Dean started silently berating him, guesturing with his hands and mouthing silent words.

_What did I tell you? You _trying_ to wake up the monster?!_

Sam responded in kind.

_Don't give me that! If you hadn't been whispering in my ear for the past ten minutes-!_

_It's not my fault you had to step on a _log_, heavyweight!_

_It's just a twig! And not all of us can be pixie size, Dean!_

Both of them fumed in the silence. The forest was quiet around them. Dean looked at him, and this time his words were a hissed whisper.

"I think we're good," he said as he started moving again, "Just watch your big feet from now on-"

_CRUNCH!_

This time it was Dean's turn to cringe, having stepped on a much larger branch. Which of course was the thing that alerted the wendigo to their approach.

"Dean!" Sam was already drawing his flare gun, the howls were around them, screeching, growling as the creature circled swfitly.

"I know, I know-!" It came at him from behind, knocking him into a tree. Sam bolted toward him.

"Dean! Dea-ough!"

"Sammy!"

Sam felt something sear across his back, and then he was soaring, and he saw tree bark, and then nothing.

* * *

Waking up was unpleasant.

Dean groaned awake with a pounding head, a pounding shoulder, a pounding back...pretty much everything pounding.

Which only got worse when he opened his eyes, really.

He was hanging inside of a cave; a grimy, dirty, smelly, dark, dank cave. _Great._ There was a shaft of light slicing through the darkness, a crack in the ceiling, just enough so that he could see if he squinted really hard. A familiar situation, actually, and just as un-fun as it was last time. Except that he was hanging alot higher this time, a good six feet above the ground at least. And Sam was hanging next to him in the cave, glaring at him around his arm.

Which is when it occurred to Dean that he had, once again, totally jinxed them. _Oops._ Dean bit his lip. Sam just huffed.

 "I blame you," Sam muttered. Dean made a face that was half grimacing and half sheepish.

"Fair enough," Dean agreed.

Sam winced and sucked in a swift breath, looking up at his tied hands, and Dean tried to crane his pounding neck, _hey, pounding neck, that's new_, to see if their bags were anywhere. _Nope._

"Okay," Sam said, sounding oddly strained, "I'm tied pretty tight, and I don't think I can just pull it out from the ceiling, what about you?"

Dean tested the ropes around his wrists.

"No go. Wait..." Dean took a breath, then pulled himself up, grunting with the effort, but he managed to get his legs up over his head, and he pressed his fingers against his left boot, knowing there was a knife in there somehwere.

He couldn't keep his legs up, and he let them fall, panting. _Ow ow ow ow ow.... _he could tell Sam was watching him, no doubt looking torn between impressed and impatient. Dean caught his breath, then tried again, pulling his legs up with a heave, bent at the waist and hanging, and he felt his face redden with the effort, but he got his fingers into his boot and he caught his pocket knife with two of them, pulled it out.

Letting his legs fall again, Dean sighed, grunting. _Ow ow ow, man, ow..._

"Man..." Dean worked to open the knife, then set about sawing through the rope that was beginning to really cut into his wrists. _Ow..._

"Ughnnn..."

"What?"

"Dean."

"What, Sam?" Dean paused to look at his brother, twisting as best he could to see him.

Sam wasn't looking at him. His eyes were in fact closed tight, his face screwed up in a pained grimace, and he was panting, looking pasty.

"Sam? Sam, what's wrong!"

Sam's face relaxed suddenly, in fact, his entire body started to relax, and his head was falling forward onto his chest.

"No no no, no _way_ man! Sam? Sammy c'mon, stay with me! SAM!"

Sam moaned once, and his head lolled, but he didn't lift it.

"Dean..."

"Yeah, I'm here, what's wrong? What hurts?"

"Uhn...god...back hurts...." Sam shifted his body, and he arched slightly, hissing. Dean gritted his teeth. _Crap._

"Okay, just hold on...one second..." Dean was almost through his bonds, just a little bit more and then...

Dean let out a short laugh when the ropes cut, and immediately afterward he remembered that he was suspended a good six feet in the air.

_Maybe this is how Wile E. Coyote feels all the time. _

Dean fell flat on his face, colliding none to pleasantly with the hard ground. _Dangit! Bad, bad idea, Dean. Oooo bad idea._

He couldn't even cuss right away, though he very much wanted too. He was too busy trying to remember how to breathe. _Okay, ow my knees, ow my chin, ow my friggin pride..._

"Dean?! What...are you okay?" Sam's voice was panicky, echoey, but at least it didn't sound like he was about to pass out anymore. Dean managed to suck in a deep gulp of air. And let it out.

"OW! _Oooo-ooo-oow!_ Sonuvamother-"

"_Dean_!"

"I'm FINE!" Dean ground out, climbing to his feet and growling at the lovely new bruises he'd given himself. _Idiot, Dean, you're such an idiot._

"'Kay..." Sam sounded tired again. Dean looked up, his head just under his brother's feet.

"Sam," he lifted a hand, clapping it on his brother's leg, tapping, "Hey, hey stay awake man, stay with me, okay?"

"Alright, just get me down, please..." Dean could tell by the sound of Sam's voice that the kid was biting the inside of his cheek, a thing he did whenever he was trying not to cuss or trying not to moan. _Crapcrapcrap..._

Dean looked around the cave, trying to find their duffels. _C'mon, c'mon, they gotta be here somewhe- hah!_

He could see their bags had been stuffed in a corner, just out of sight from his suspended angle, but easy to reach now. He dug around, pulling a flare gun and his .45.

And, funnily enough, as he pulled his hand quickly, from the bag, gripping his Desert Eagle, he felt the incredibly evil and thoroughly unnecessary sing of a paper cut slice across the knuckle of his left ring finger.

_Oh, c'mon!I _hate_ paper cuts..._

The paper stuck to the sweat on his hand, and he barely glanced at it at he hastily stood to find out how badly Sam was hurt.

That glance was all it took to make him freeze mid-step once his brain caught up with his eyes, and he gathered in some unoccupied part of his mind where that little paper receipt had come from.

_Ooooooh Sam's going to _kill_ me-_

"Dean!" came Sam's warning.

_Unless the wendigo gets me first._

It was taller than the last one they'd dealt with, but just as fast, and just as fond of screeching, smacking, and generally beating on Dean.

_Which, I mean, seriously, can I get _one_ break..._

Dean ducked, rolled and dodged, trying to get a bead on the beast, seeing Sam flail his legs and managing to connect with the things head, causing it to stop and screech furiously at Sam, ready to strike.

Giving Dean exactly the shot he needed.

All in all, it was over pretty fast.

Dean really had no choice but to shoot the rope, letting Sam fall down. Not that he didn't try to catch him...

It just didn't work out so well. Sam _is_ bigger, after all.

"Ouch-"

"Ow!"

"Dean, whatryou-"

"OW!"

"Okay, oka- OH GOD!"

"What?! Sammy?"

Sam was panting, biting his cheek again.

"You're...elbow.....hit my back....god..."

"Crap, sorry. Here, lemme see..."

Sam's back had three or four long but clean slices across his back. They were bleeding heavily, but Dean figured he'd be okay for the moment, long enough for them to get outside so he could bandage him properly in the open.

And then they were out. In the open, just a few minutes later. Sam trudging along gingerly, wincing and hissing and biting his cheek and Dean trying to beat his usually nonexistent conscience down into submission.

"Dude," Sam hissed once, and then kept on, shaking his head and huffing,"this has been one _sucky_ day, even for us..."

Trying...and failing.

"Sammy?"

The forest was dim around them, dawn only half an hour away. Sam's back looked worse in the light. _Oh man, this is my fault...is that nausea? Yeah, I think that's nausea I feel. Wonderful._

"Yeah?" Sam barely turned, obviously I shouldn't tell him, what am I doing.

"Uh...I think...I mean, I need to tell you....uh, something..."

"What, Dean." Sam was clearly impatient and in pain. _Great, great, he's going to flip out._

"I, uh, forgot...well, I remembered...this thing..."

"Spit it out!"

"Iateabreakfastburrito." _Hey maybe if I say it fast enough, he won't-_

"What." Sam's voice was slow, low, and quiet. It was the kind of voice he usually reserved for specifically rude demons. _Ok, scary..._

"I," Dean could feel himself shrinking, feel himself cringing,"I ate a breakfast burrito. This morning. When I got the coffee."

Sam turned to face him, only stumbling a little, but not actually wincing. _Ok, that's a scary face, I don't think I like that face._

"You...ate..._mexican_?"

Dean took a long, deep breath, then chickened out.

"Yup."

"And the coffee spilled."

"Yeah."

"And you hit a bunny."

"Uh-huh."

"And the storm, and the squirrel, and the _friggin' _WENDIGO."

"Um, yes?" _Did I mention the sorry part? I should probably mention the sorry part..._

Sam was silent for a minute, biting his cheek so hard Dean was sure it probably wasn't healthy t-

Dean actually flinched when Sam's fist collided loudly, _is that normal?_, with the nearest tree trunk.

And when he turned to give Dean the scary glare again, a pine cone dropped spot on the top of Sam's head.

_Not funny not funny not funny not funny..._

Dean may have choked once, but he managed not to laugh. The memory of Sam's bloody back helped.

Sam didn't really react, he just schooled his face, bit his cheek, and nodded.

"I blame you."

"Fair enough, Sammy, fair enough."


End file.
